


If You Can't Stand The Heat

by solitaryjo



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of violence and injuries, Modern AU, Peer Pressure, Summer Holidays, Swimming, but nothing graphic, heat wave, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitaryjo/pseuds/solitaryjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The 1990 heat wave in the United Kingdom was a particularly severe heat event with temperatures hitting record highs of 37.1°C (98.8°F) on 3rd August.</p><p>(I set it in 1990 because I was at the same stage in my education as the boys are in the story and I have no idea how the school system works these days)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onstraysod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/gifts).



> The 1990 heat wave in the United Kingdom was a particularly severe heat event with temperatures hitting record highs of 37.1°C (98.8°F) on 3rd August.
> 
> (I set it in 1990 because I was at the same stage in my education as the boys are in the story and I have no idea how the school system works these days)

_The calm before the storm,_ Grant thought as he looked out of his window at the empty pool. With the heat wave showing no sign of abating, he steeled himself for the inevitable influx of the weekend crowd.

He’d had this seasonal job at the holiday camp in his hometown since sixth form and enjoyed the freedom of coming back to see old friends without having to stay with his parents, even though sleeping in the chalet next to the pool sometimes made him feel like he had to be on call 24/7 in case some idiot decided it would be a good idea to take a dip on their way back from the bar. Thankfully, the families who stayed at the camp rarely caused any trouble and he’d never actually had to put his life-saving skills into practice outside of regular hours.

Weekends were different though, especially this year. The pool was open to the public and the ridiculously hot weather was tempting local people who usually looked down their noses at the camp to seek relief in the water and spend all day lying in the sun eating ice cream.

Grant sighed as he finished his breakfast and began his daily routine of pre-opening checks. There was already a queue outside the gate when he went to unlock it at 9 o’clock and he was pushed out of the way as the crowd rushed to claim the few sun loungers that the camp’s owners had set up at the far end of the pool. Those who didn’t manage to get there in time spread out their towels on the grass verges or the concrete slabs, which had already started steaming as the sun burnt off the water used to wash them down overnight.

The morning passed uneventfully and Grant was starting to think that it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all when he caught sight of a familiar mop of strawberry blond hair in the centre of a group of young men making their way towards the pool.

“Oh great,” he muttered under his breath, “William Bloody De Lancey. That’s all I need.”

Grant had been the star of the swimming team at the Boys’ Grammar School until William Bloody De Lancey had decided he ‘might as well give it a go’ and proceeded to break every record before coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t like the early starts and strict training regime and just giving the whole thing up.

Every year, Grant had been top of the class in almost all the subjects he’d studied thanks to his conscientious nature and determination to succeed - until William Bloody De Lancey buckled down in the last few weeks of the summer term and aced every single test.

And while Grant had been working his arse off to get the A-level results he needed for the course he wanted to do at Sheffield University, William Bloody De Lancey had taken the Oxbridge exams and gone to the interviews just for the hell of it then turned down the place he was offered at Magdalene College, Cambridge, in order to set up a computer-repair company from his bedroom. Grant had to admit the gamble had paid off handsomely – after just two years, the firm employed five people and De Lancey had a penthouse apartment in one of the new blocks on the posh side of town – but in a way that just added to his resentment.

 _I’m in charge here,_ he thought, even though he knew it was petty and childish, _and I’m damned if I’m going to let that bloody show-off get the better of me this time._

He shook his head as he watched De Lancey and his posse commandeer a group of sun loungers, talking loudly about their recent holiday in Ibiza and how they had been reduced to ‘slumming it’ at the local pool for the day while they stripped off their T-shirts and shorts to reveal their sleek designer swimwear. Some of them had clearly overdone the sunbathing on their trip and were sporting sore-looking red shoulders and peeling noses but De Lancey’s usually pale skin was tanned to perfection, the freckles on his chest and back almost invisible beneath the golden hue.

 _Typical,_ thought Grant, _even the bloody ginger gene can’t stop him looking better than everyone else._

De Lancey yawned and stretched his arms over his head, exposing a tan line across his taut stomach and a glimpse of paler skin beneath. He walked to the edge of the pool in front of a group of giggling girls from the local college, turned to face them, gave a wink and executed a perfect back flip into the water.

“Shit,” Grant swore through gritted teeth, “it’s going to be one of _those_ days.” He put his whistle to his lips and gave a short sharp blast.

“No Diving!”

De Lancey’s grinning face appeared over the edge of the pool. “Keep your hair on, Lassie. It wasn’t even a dive.”

“That’s not the point.” Grant indicated the sign attached to the side of his chair. “Follow the rules or leave, it’s up to you,” he said firmly, adding under his breath, “and don’t call me that.”

If there was one thing guaranteed to piss him off it was the nickname De Lancey had given him at school. He’d just about managed to put up with the other boys shortening Colquhoun to Collie and barking whenever they saw him but William had to go and take it a step too far and the embarrassing sobriquet had stuck for the remainder of his time there.

That was one of the good things about going away to uni – at least you could introduce yourself however you wanted and nobody would question it. He usually went by Col now though because nobody seemed to believe an ‘l’ could be silent and it was easier than trying to correct the pronunciation of everyone he met.

De Lancey pulled himself up out of the water and sauntered over to Grant’s position.

“What are you going to do? Call security?” He smirked. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen. The lads the camp had hired to keep the rougher element out had been part of his group at school and would only laugh if Grant tried to tell them what to do.

“Perhaps you should consider the safety of others for once, William.” The voice came from behind Grant’s back and he swivelled in his chair to find Arthur Wellesley standing there flanked by a couple of blondes in extremely skimpy bikinis. Arthur was a few years older than him and had been head boy when they’d been in third year. He’d always liked Grant and had made sure the teasing didn’t go too far. Even after he’d left, the possibility of stories getting back to him had deterred the other boys from causing too much trouble and it seemed like he was still the one person who could actually intimidate William Bloody De Lancey.

“Grant’s only doing his job,” he continued, “and I would imagine that’s hard enough on a day like this without you playing silly games so wind your neck in and or I’ll escort you from the premises myself.”

“Fine. Whatever.” De Lancey rolled his eyes and pouted. “I was just trying to have fun.” He stuck his tongue out at Arthur’s back as the older man returned to the gaggle of women gathered round his sun bed.

Grant could tell from the petulant glare De Lancey gave him that that wasn’t going to be the end of it but he certainly wasn’t prepared for what came next. De Lancey picked up the towel he’d left by the side of the pool and spread it out on the ground right next to the lifeguard’s chair.

“I take it you don’t have any objections to a person trying to keep in shape?” he asked innocently as he began to go through a series of yoga poses.

Grant groaned quietly and tried to keep his eyes on the pool. He could see the college girls nudging each other and whispering as they took in the show De Lancey was putting on and he knew damn well that it wasn’t just for their benefit. On more than one occasion, William’s propensity for flaunting himself shamelessly in front of anyone who cared to watch had left other boys sitting red-faced in the changing rooms at school, holding their gym bags on their laps in a vain attempt to hide the effect he was having on them but unable to look away.

Grant wondered now if his own reaction had been that obvious at the time. He thought he’d managed to disguise it better than most and surely he would have been teased mercilessly if De Lancey had realised but he couldn’t help squirming in his seat as a voice in the back his mind whispered, “he knows.”

Despite his best efforts, he found himself glancing down every now and then, catching glimpses of De Lancey’s toned body in various poses that seemed designed to accentuate the parts he was trying to avoid looking at. _Christ_ , he thought, _who knew yoga could be so fucking sexy?_

De Lancey finished his routine with a downward dog, holding the pose with his arse in the air for longer than was strictly necessary until he was sure Grant wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek. It was a small victory but it gave him back his sense of control and, unexpectedly, the idea of Grant as a possible conquest rather than a target of mirth entered his mind. He laughed to himself and shook his head. Grant had certainly filled out since their school days and if he met him now on equal terms he would probably be all over that but their history made any such dalliance impossible. 

He picked up his towel and walked back over to his friends, who whistled and applauded as he approached. They knew that the girls who were following him with their eyes would be more than willing to join them for a party in the penthouse after that display and that even De Lancey would only be able to manage two or three of them, leaving the rest looking for someone to finish what he had started.

Grant sighed with relief as he looked at his watch and saw that it was time to wind things up for the day. “Pool’s closing in ten minutes, folks,” he announced, “start packing up.”

Once the last swimmer had left the water, he climbed down from his chair and stretched his stiff muscles in the evening sun. He gave a nod to Arthur, who was heading for the bar with his ladies in tow, and looked around at the dwindling crowd.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help smiling when he saw De Lancey kick off his trunks and “accidentally” let the towel he had wrapped around his waist slip as he pulled on his shorts, giving the giggling girls a flash of his naked backside.

“William Bloody De Lancey,” he sighed as he packed up his gear and headed back to the chalet, “some things never change.”


	2. Chapter 2

Grant usually made the most of his days off by heading out of town to take a walk in the hills and practice his sketching but in this heat all he wanted to do was lie by the pool and relax. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with De Lancey and his mates – they’d be much too hungover after the previous night’s party to venture out in the midday sun. Or so he thought. 

He was just getting himself settled when De Lancey strolled past with a cheery “Good Morning,” spread his towel out on an adjacent sun lounger in the shade of a large umbrella, took a bottle of Lucozade and a copy of the _NME_ out of his bag and sat back with a contented sigh. 

Grant looked around, wondering who or what could have tempted the legendary party animal to get out of bed before lunchtime on a Sunday in the middle of a heat wave, but the only other people he could see were families from the camp. 

“Morning,” he replied after rather too long a pause, prompting De Lancey to look up from his magazine with a wry smile. 

“Ah, so you aren’t ignoring me then.” 

“Why would I be ignoring you?” 

“Well, I did behave like a bit of a prick yesterday.” 

“Did you? I didn’t notice any difference.” 

De Lancey laughed, “I guess I deserved that,” but his expression turned serious as he continued. “That’s why I’m here, really. I was thinking about things last night and I want to apologise.” 

He took off his sunglasses, revealing a nasty looking black eye. 

“Jesus!” Grant exclaimed, “What happened to your face?” 

De Lancey grinned, unable to stop himself making the obvious joke: “You should see the other guy.”

He attempted a wink but winced with pain as the movement pulled at his swollen eyelid. 

“Get into a fight over some girl, did you?” Although he knew he probably wouldn’t like the answer, Grant let his curiosity get the better of him. 

”Actually I was defending your honour, if you must know.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

“Seriously. Tom and Henry wouldn’t stop slagging you off and I guess I just didn’t find it funny anymore so I gave them a demonstration of my boxing skills and chucked everyone out. They can have their parties somewhere else in future. I’m finished with those guys.” 

“Hmmm,” Grant was understandably sceptical. “That’ll be the day. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you weren’t surrounded by your fan club.” 

“Well I reckon it’s about time I found out. I wish I could be more like you, actually. Just do my own thing and not give a shit what anyone thinks. I’ve always admired you for that. I know you won’t believe me but I really am sorry.” He paused before adding, “For everything.” 

Grant wasn’t sure if he was more astonished to discover that his efforts to appear unaffected by the constant teasing had been so successful or that De Lancey actually _admired_ him. He didn’t know whether it was the effects of the heat or the apparent sincerity of the apology but he found himself wanting to continue the conversation. 

“I do, you know,” he sighed. “Care, that is. About what people think. Well, some people anyway. Besides, you shouldn’t want to be like me - being alone all the time isn’t much fun.” 

De Lancey shrugged. “Fun’s a relative concept and you don’t have to be alone to be lonely. I’m surrounded by people who call themselves my friends but not one of them really knows me. I can get pretty much anyone into my bed if I try but I’ve never met someone I want to be with for more than one night. Sometimes I think being on my own would be better than having to keep up this act all the time.” 

Grant didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t crossed his mind that De Lancey might not be as confident as he seemed or that such an attractive and popular person could be anything other than happy. 

“Then why do you do it?” 

“I guess I’ve been wearing the mask for so long it’s become part of me. To be honest, I’m scared of how people would react if they found out I’d been faking it all this time. If they could see what’s underneath. They only hang around because I give them what they’ve come to expect and I don’t think any of them would want to know the real me.” 

_I would,_ Grant thought, and he was about to say the words aloud when the opportunity was denied him by a loud wolf-whistle from the other side of the pool. 

“Fuck. Not now.” De Lancey cringed as Tom Ashton and Henry Spencer approached. Spencer seemed to have a bit of a limp and Ashton was sporting a neat row of stitches in a cut over his left eyebrow. 

“Well, well. What’s this then? Spending some quality time with your boyfriend?” Ashton sneered. “Hey there Collie, enjoying the attention? Has he taught you any new tricks yet?” 

“Shut it, Tom.” De Lancey stood, positioning himself between Grant and the newcomers. “I told you to leave him alone.” 

“Ooh, look who’s getting all protective,” Spencer taunted, “You’re not seriously going to choose him over us? Have you got any idea how much shit you’ll get from the lads? Come on, we’re heading to the match. Let’s forget this ever happened and go get some beers. Unless you really want to abandon your friends for _that._ ” 

De Lancey lowered his gaze and chewed on a well-bitten fingernail. He’d meant what he said but the prospect of losing his status and influence – and worse, being on the receiving end of the kind of abuse he was used to dealing out – was too much. 

Avoiding eye contact with Grant, he gathered up his things and pasted on a smile. 

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s go.” 

“Oh cheer up, Lassie,” Spencer patted Grant on the head as he passed. “It’s not like he would have actually thrown you a bone.” 

De Lancey sniggered, the familiar smirk returning as he slipped back into the character he was so used to playing. 

“You mean it’s not like he’d know what to do with it if I did.” He clapped Spencer on the back as they walked away. “You’re right, Henry, I’d only be wasting my time.” 

Grant rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, telling himself it was the chlorine fumes from the pool that were making them water and nothing to do with the disappointment and shame he was trying so hard not to feel. He turned away to avoid giving them something else to laugh at and didn’t see the look of sorrow and regret on De Lancey’s face as he glanced back over his shoulder. 

\--------

The heat didn’t let up when the sun went down. Grant lay on his back with his hands behind his head, unable to sleep and trying not to think about the day’s events, but every time he closed his eyes he could see that cruel smirk and hear the mocking laughter. The anger and embarrassment he’d felt every time they’d taunted him at school returned with a vengeance, reminding him why he had sworn he’d never let anyone get under his skin like that again. 

He hated himself for letting his guard down and was glad the summer was nearly over and he had to go back to university in a couple of weeks’ time. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about running into them every day and hopefully the intensity of his studies would help him forget the whole thing. He supposed he’d have to give up the job at the pool, which was a shame, but he’d been thinking of trying to get some kind of internship in his chosen field next year anyway and this might be just the push he needed. 

He sighed and got up to fetch himself a glass of water, almost dropping it on the way back from the kitchen when he heard a muffled “Shit!” from outside. Looking out through the slats in the blind, he saw a figure next to the pool balancing on one leg and rubbing a toe that had obviously just been stubbed on one of the nearby loungers. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. What are you up to now?” Grant muttered as he pulled on a pair of shorts and headed for the door. 

He started to open it but froze with his hand on the latch as De Lancey stripped off his jeans and T-shirt and stretched his arms languidly above his head, the tan lines on his stomach and thighs clearly visible in the absence of the trunks that had concealed them the previous day. 

Grant shrank back behind the door frame, peering through the narrow crack and hoping he hadn’t given himself away. He certainly couldn’t go out there now – that would just be playing into his tormentor’s hands. No, best to go back to bed and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. If only he could manage to tear his eyes from the vision in front of him. 

De Lancey stood stock still for a moment, transformed into a marble statue of perfect proportions by the silver light of the full moon. 

He dived into the water without so much as a splash and covered the length of the pool in a few powerful strokes, his shoulders, torso and hips rolling together as one as he turned his head to breathe. 

With the fluid motion of a natural swimmer, he performed a racing turn, twisted onto his back as he pushed off from the edge and glided to the surface half way to the other end, fully exposed to the eyes he knew were watching him. 

Grant was utterly mesmerised for a minute or two, but his enjoyment of the show was cut short by a voice at the back of his head telling him that there must be an ulterior motive behind this display and that it was unlikely to be a particularly pleasant one. 

Was De Lancey trying to prove some kind of point? To show that he knew what Grant wanted and tease him with what he could never have? Or had his friends dared him to do it? Were they out there in the bushes with a video camera, waiting to capture Grant’s reaction so they could use the footage as entertainment at their next party? 

_Either way,_ he thought, _you’re not going to get a rise out of me. Well, not in that sense anyway._

His speculation was interrupted by a loud splash as something landed in the pool a few metres from De Lancey’s head. Whatever it was, it sank rapidly before he had a chance to react and grab it. 

Despite his misgivings, Grant’s lifeguard training kicked in and he rushed out the door, his attention momentarily captured by the screeching of tires as a car sped away on the other side of the hedge that marked the camp’s boundary. 

De Lancey had dived down to the bottom of the pool to retrieve the object and resurfaced with what looked like a burlap sack in his arms. He was managing to hold it above the surface while treading water but couldn’t make any headway towards the edge of the pool, and Grant wondered why he was bothering until he saw the sack move and heard a faint whimper that was definitely not coming from De Lancey. 

“Shit!” 

He jumped into the water behind De Lancey, wrapped an arm around his chest and dragged him and his burden to the nearest edge. De Lancey pushed the sack up onto the side of the pool and grinned with relief and a touch of mischief as he turned his head to look at Grant, who was still holding onto him as tightly as if his life depended on it. 

“You can let go now.” 

He clambered out and set about trying to open the sack but the water had swollen the strings and he couldn’t untie the knot. 

“Fuck.” He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t get it undone.” 

“Give it here.” Grant picked up the sack and its wriggling contents and carried it carefully towards the chalet, rolling his eyes as he gestured for De Lancey to follow. 

“And put some fucking clothes on if you’re coming in.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that album wasn't released until 1995 but I needed the song so artistic licence OK?

De Lancey got dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt over wet skin and hair, then made his way to the chalet and poked his head cautiously around the doorframe. He couldn’t hear anything from inside and he was more than a little worried about what he might see.

His fears proved unfounded. Grant was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a tiny black-and-white puppy nestling in his arms.

“Oh!” De Lancey exclaimed as he knelt down next to them. “What a sweetheart!” 

He reached out to pet the puppy but it shrank away from him, its eyes full of mistrust.

“I don’t get it.” He frowned. “He’s so small. Why did he sink that fast?”

Grant picked up the knife he’d used to cut the sack open and pushed back the edges of the hole, exposing the bricks inside.

“Jesus!” De Lancey shook his head in disgust. “What kind of monster would do that?” He leant forward slowly, allowing the puppy to sniff his hand before gently stroking its head with the tips of his fingers. “The poor little thing’s shaking like a leaf.” 

He realised Grant was shivering too, in spite of the stifling heat. “And he’s not the only one. Here, let me hold him while you get dry.”

Grant emerged from the bedroom wearing shorts and an unbuttoned shirt and rubbing his hair with a towel. He stood in the doorway for a second or two, taking in the scene in front of him. The look in De Lancey’s eyes and the tenderness in his voice as he reassured the little dog that everything was going to be OK was a world away from the attitude he displayed in the company of his friends and Grant was reluctant to spoil the moment.

The puppy seemed to be less frightened now but it was still trembling and every now and then it gave a little cough.

A flicker of concern crossed Grant’s face. “We should get him checked out.”

“Where are you going to find a vet at this time of night?”

“I’ll take him to Jim. Can you keep hold of him while I ring for a taxi?”

“Of course. Who’s Jim?”

“My sister Mary’s husband. He has a practice on the other side of town.”

“Right then. Let’s go.”

“What?”

“No need for a taxi, I’m parked just outside the gates. Come on.”

Walking to the car, Grant couldn’t help asking the question that was still niggling at the back of his mind.

“What were you doing here anyway?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t exactly planned. I couldn’t sleep so I went for a drive and I ended up here. I guess my subconscious wanted me to talk to you, to say sorry for being such an idiot. Again.”

De Lancey shrugged apologetically. “Of course I chickened out. But the water looked so inviting and I saw your light on and thought maybe if you saw me in the pool you’d come out to have a go at me and at least we’d be talking and ... I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to do.” 

Grant sighed and shook his head. He thought about the dubious motivations he’d considered earlier and found he was actually relieved that De Lancey had just been looking for attention as usual.

“Well, yes, it was. But then if you hadn’t been there this little guy wouldn’t have stood a chance, so I suppose all’s well that ends well.”

He settled into the passenger seat with the puppy on his lap and smiled as De Lancey reached over to stroke its head before fastening his seatbelt.

“There really is a heart under all that posturing isn’t there?"

De Lancey almost looked bashful. “I did try to tell you. Besides, it’s impossible not to fall for such a gorgeous creature.” He gave a wink as he started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. “Who could resist those big brown eyes?”

Grant looked down at the bundle in his lap. Even in the pale moonlight he could see that the puppy’s eyes were a stunning shade of azure. He glanced to his right with a puzzled frown. “His eyes are blue ...”

De Lancey just kept looking straight ahead, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“I know.”

\--------

James McGrigor wasn’t too pleased about being woken at 2 am but his expression softened when he saw what Grant was holding in his arms.

“Och, what a wee darling. What happened to you then?”

He ushered them into the kitchen and went to fetch his kit as Grant gently placed the puppy on a table. After hearing what had happened - and responding with a stream of invective in his broad Scottish accent that De Lancey didn’t even want to know the meaning of - McGrigor set about examining the patient.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any water in his lungs and he seems OK but I’d like to keep an eye on him for a few days.” 

“Thanks Jim.” Grant gave the puppy a scratch behind the ears. “Do you think you can find him a good home? Much as I’d love to keep him, I reckon he needs someone who can look after him better than I could.” 

McGrigor nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Now get out of here and get some rest – you look exhausted.” He waited until De Lancey was out of earshot before adding, “I know it’s none of my business but isn’t he the one who used to make your life hell at school? Are you sure he's got nothing to do with this?” 

"He wouldn't..." The thought hadn't even occurred to Grant and he really didn't want to consider it. "If you'd seen how upset he was..."

"I'm just saying," McGrigor put a hand on his shoulder as they made their way to the door. "A leopard doesn't change its spots. And you do know what breed your little friend there is, right?"

His words brought Grant back down to earth with a bang. The night’s events had been so surreal and he’d actually been starting to enjoy De Lancey’s company but the doubts that had plagued him earlier were back with a vengeance.

He walked to the end of the drive and turned to his right with a curt nod. 

“Thanks for the lift. Good night.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home. Obviously.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can drop you off.”

“It’s out of your way. I’ll be fine walking.”

“Christ, you’re stubborn. I’m only offering you a lift. It's the least I can do."

“Fine.” 

The journey passed in awkward silence. De Lancey desperately wanted to know what had changed Grant's mood so abruptly but he didn't dare speak for fear of making things worse. As he pulled up outside the camp and Grant started to get out of the car, he summoned up his courage for one last roll of the dice. “I don’t know about you but I could do with a drink.”

Grant was about to dismiss the idea without thinking but something about the way De Lancey was looking at him made him change his mind. He had to know if his gut feeling about the guy was right or if McGrigor's suspicions were true.

He tried to sound as if he didn't really care one way or the other as he replied, "Oh why not? Come in then." 

\---------

De Lancey sat on the couch, rolling the brandy around in his glass and watching Grant pour himself an equally large measure. "Of course I’ll have to stay over if I drink this. I may do a lot of things you don't approve of but I never drink and drive."

Grant rolled his eyes. "Do you ever stop trying it on?"

De Lancey gave a resigned smile. "Don’t worry, I got the message - you’re not interested. I can crash out here. I just don’t particularly want to go back to that big empty apartment right now."

He looked so dejected that Grant just wanted to wrap his arms around him, but instead he sat down beside him and gently put a hand on his arm. “If you assume a person isn’t interested just because they don’t jump into bed with you at the first opportunity, it’s no wonder you can’t find anyone you want to be with for more than one night.”

De Lancey looked up in surprise. "Fair point. I never thought of it like that. Guess I'm just not used to being rejected."

Grant laughed. "Don’t look so disappointed. Just because I don’t want to be another notch on your bedpost doesn't mean you've suddenly lost your mojo. Anyway, you should probably consider it more a lucky escape than a rejection." 

He looked away to avoid the amusement he expected to see in De Lancey's face as he admitted, "You were right earlier. I wouldn’t know what to do with it."

"Seriously? But you must have..." Far from laughing at him, De Lancey seemed genuinely bemused.

"Nope. I mean it's not like I haven't had the chance but one-night stands don't appeal to me. If I'm going to let anyone get that close it would have to be someone I really care about and, well, I guess I just haven't met them yet."

De Lancey took a sip of his drink and shifted his position on the couch, inching closer until his thigh was pressed up against Grant's. He felt a surge of longing quite unlike the purely physical attraction that was all he'd known before. Grant's hand was still resting on his arm and he covered it with his own. 

"Are you sure about that?"

Grant stared at him for a moment, torn between the desire to kiss him and the fear that this was just another game and he'd be making a total fool of himself. He heard McGrigor's voice in his head: "He's a player, that one. Be careful Col, I don't want you to get hurt."

He pulled his hand away and stood up. "I should get some sleep now. I'm on duty tomorrow. I'm just going to rinse this damned chlorine off then the bathroom's all yours."

He turned on the radio and stood in the shower, letting the cool water run over his body and trying not to think about the thrill he had felt at De Lancey's touch, but it seemed as if fate was conspiring against him. The song that was playing was familiar and the lyrics suddenly seemed all too relevant:

_Why me? Why you? Why here? Why now?_

_It doesn't make no sense. It's not convenient. It doesn't fit my plans. It's something I don't understand._

He closed his eyes as he sang along with the next line and it wasn't until he opened them again that he realised he wasn't alone.

De Lancey was standing there, watching and listening with a look in his eyes that made Grant go weak at the knees.

"Good song, isn't it?" He grinned as he pulled the T-shirt over his head and bent down to take off his jeans. "I would have waited ‘til you finished but then I remembered the government said we're supposed to be conserving water."

Grant knew he should protest at the intrusion but he found that he didn't want to listen to that voice in his head anymore. Maybe it was the heatwave, or the exhaustion, or even the emotional aftermath of rescuing the puppy, but tonight he was going to do what felt good and to hell with the consequences. 

With an exasperated sigh of "You're incorrigible," he opened the shower door and pulled De Lancey into the cubicle.


	4. Chapter 4

De Lancey slid the door closed behind him with a wicked grin, pushed Grant back against the wall and kissed him hungrily, his eyes glinting with desire.

The cubicle was only just big enough for two and as he squeezed in, he relished the feeling of Grant’s cock rising and swelling to match his own erection in the tight space between them. He grabbed Grant’s arse and pulled him closer, feeling the heat rolling off his skin in spite of the cool water and sensing the shudder that ran through his body as he instinctively thrust his hips forward. 

De Lancey broke off the kiss and took a deep breath. It if had been anyone else, he would have been on his knees in a second, his mouth around that big, hard cock; kissing and licking and sucking until the other man couldn’t take any more and then turning him around and using his tongue to ease the way so he could satisfy his burning need to get inside that hot, tight arse and.... 

Fuck he wanted to and the thought of it was driving him crazy, but this was different. He knew Grant still had his doubts and the last thing he wanted to do was give the impression that he was just out for what he could get. 

After taking the initiative in such an unexpected way, and in spite of his obvious arousal, Grant seemed unsure what to do next. He gave a tentative smile. 

“William, I….”

De Lancey pulled back an inch or two and pressed a fingertip to his lips. 

“Shhh. Let me…”

He poured the shower gel into his palm and started working up a lather, tracing circles in the soft golden hair on Grant’s chest and pausing every now and then to lean in for another kiss. 

Grant leant back against the tiled wall, his eyes closed and his lips parted in a silent "O" of anticipation. He hardly dared breathe as De Lancey moved a hand up to his shoulder and slowly ran it down his arm, stroking the inside of his wrist with a touch so light and yet so erotic that he thought he might pass out from the waves of pleasure racing through his veins. 

“You can touch me too, you know,” De Lancey teased, using his index finger to trace a line in the suds downwards over Grant’s stomach and, with an admiring glance, along the considerable length of his member, which was now throbbing with an almost painful intensity. 

When De Lancey brushed his thumb over the tip, Grant gasped, inadvertently taking in a mouthful of water and succumbing to a fit of coughing that turned into laughter and then a wanton moan as skilful fingers closed around his trembling cock and began to work it with a slow twisting motion, producing a feeling that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced at his own hands. 

Any reserve he had left evaporated and he reached out for De Lancey, gripping him hard with a surge of pure lust. The angle felt a bit awkward at first as he tried to adjust for the fact that it wasn’t his own body he was dealing with but it didn’t take him long to figure it out and the other man certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Like this?” 

De Lancey nodded and murmured, “Mmmm! Oh yes!” 

His hand was moving faster now and Grant picked up the rhythm. Their surroundings seemed to fade away as he gave himself over to the motion and when De Lancey put soft lips to his ear and whispered, "God Grant, you make me so horny," he couldn't hold back any longer. He gave a cry of "Oh Fuck!" and looked down to see his cum mingling with the soapy water and the hot, sticky stream pumping out of De Lancey's cock as he too reached his climax. 

  


Unsure whether his legs would support him if he tried to move, De Lancey leant against Grant’s chest and let the cool water run over his back. When his breathing had slowed to a manageable rate, he raised his head and pressed his lips to Grant’s, smiling at the look of stunned amazement on the other man’s face. 

“Bed?” 

“You want to stay?” 

“Unless you were planning to kick me out now you’ve had your way with me.” 

Grant looked so appalled at the suggestion that De Lancey couldn’t help laughing. 

“I’m kidding.” He slid the door back and took Grant’s hand, leading him out of the shower and passing him a towel from the rack. “And yes. Of course I want to stay.” 

  


Despite getting only three hours' sleep, Grant woke as usual a couple of minutes before his alarm was due to go off. It took a second or two for him to realise that the weight he could feel on his chest was De Lancey's arm and the movement of air against his neck was the sleeping man's breath. He tried not to move, fearing that the warm glow filling his breast might yet be destroyed by a careless word or a look of regret - or, worse, amusement - as soon as De Lancey awoke, but when the clock started beeping and those blue eyes blinked open, all he saw was happiness and contentment. 

"Good morning." He shifted his position to kiss De Lancey on the forehead. "Time to get up, I'm afraid." 

"Ugh. Already?" De Lancey complained. "Can't we just stay here?" 

He slid a hand under the sheet and played his fingers over Grant's stomach. "Just a bit longer?" 

Grant caught the hand before it got any lower and brought it to his lips. "Believe me, I wish we could, but there'll be hell to pay if I don't get the pool open on time and haven't you got a company to run?" 

"If I must," De Lancey grumbled, "but I'm coming back later to pick up where I left off." 

  


Over the next few days, Grant revelled in physical pleasures that he hadn't realised had been missing from his life as De Lancey introduced him to sensations he didn’t know he could feel and showed him erogenous zones he didn’t know he possessed. 

For his part, De Lancey finally understood what people had meant when they'd told him how much better it can be with someone you care about. Rather than rushing in with all guns blazing, he savoured the brush of a fingertip, the flick of a tongue, the tickle of soft hair as his lips almost touched Grant's skin. He never pushed too hard or demanded more than his lover was ready to give and he was surprised to find that he was sometimes the one saying they should take things slow, so intoxicating was the experience of gradually getting to know one other's bodies. 

  


On the Tuesday, when heat threatened to overwhelm them and De Lancey suggested a midnight swim, Grant followed without a second thought, running to the edge of the pool and jumping straight in after him. He laughed as De Lancey pointed to the old-fashioned sign on the wall that asked Patrons to 'kindly refrain from' running, bombing and other assorted offences. 

"Look at you, breaking the rules!" 

"Hmmm," Grant caught him round the waist and pulled him forwards. "Seems all I needed was the right incentive. Never thought I'd have the chance to break the 'heavy petting' one though - want to give it a go?" 

  


On the Thursday, when they went to McGrigor’s to visit the puppy, the vet watched De Lancey dissolve in a fit of giggles as he struggled to extricate himself from a pile of dogs and children and admitted that he may have been wrong and perhaps some leopards had more changeable spots than others. 

"Still," he said, though the look in Grant's eyes told him it was already too late, "don't get in too deep, Col. You know it's probably just a holiday thing for him." 

  


And on the Friday evening, when an impromptu barbecue outside the chalet was disturbed by the arrival of Ashton and Spencer, De Lancey just rolled his eyes and ignored their goading and their complaints about having nowhere to go for a good time after the pubs closed. 

Spencer pulled at his arm. "Come on Will, let's go to back to yours. I'll bring the booze." But this time De Lancey didn't even waver. 

"Fuck off lads." He put a hand on Grant's shoulder. "Go and bother someone else. We don't want you round here anymore." 

He watched them thoughtfully as they departed and turned to Grant with a deep sigh. "I really was a total wanker, wasn't I? No wonder you hated me." 

Grant simply raised an eyebrow. 

"What?" De Lancey frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Grant smiled to himself. The way De Lancey had just casually referred to them as "we" had settled the matter. He knew what he wanted and even if this was just a holiday thing he was going to make damn sure he wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry. 

"No reason," he replied innocently, but his mind was full of plans. 

  


The next day, he took a long lunch and jumped on a bus into town, heading for streets he used to walk down with his eyes averted and not even trying to hide his face when one of his old teachers saw him coming out of an 'Adult Novelty Shop', swinging a carrier bag and whistling the tune of _Tonight_ from West Side Story. 

As the afternoon dragged on, the air grew heavy with the sense of an impending storm. The forecasters had been predicting the end of the heatwave for a couple of days and it looked like it was finally about to break. Not that Grant noticed. All he wanted to do was get the day over with, close the gates and start preparing for the night ahead. 

As soon as the clock struck seven he hurried the remaining campers out of the pool area and rushed back to the chalet, leaving the mess for the Sunday lifeguard to clear up. He only had one more week to go anyway and he didn't really care anymore. Somehow he doubted he'd be returning to the job the following year, whatever happened. 

After stashing the items he’d bought earlier in the bedside cabinet and opening a bottle of wine, he showered quickly and put on the thigh-length silk kimono he'd blown way too much of his hard-earned cash on, tying the belt loosely around his waist in a way that he hoped said _Come and get it._

When De Lancey didn't show up at nine o'clock, he reminded himself that the man was always at least fifteen minutes late - that was one habit he hadn't managed to break - but when it got to half past and there was still no sign he began to second guess himself. Had Spencer managed to convince him after all? 

The sound of the doorbell brought a surge of relief. He'd given De Lancey the spare keys so there was no need for him to ring the bell but knowing him he'd probably mislaid them somewhere. 

He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and opened the door, only to find Arthur Wellesley standing on the step. 

Wellesley avoided Grant's confused gaze and peered past him into the chalet, sighing and shaking his head as he took in the scented candles and the music playing softly in the background. 

“Shit." He put a hand on his friend's elbow as if he knew he would need to hold him up as soon as he said the next words. 

"You haven’t heard, have you?” 


	5. Chapter 5

“Heard what?”

“About William. I’ve been trying to call you.” 

Grant groaned and looked over at the phone he’d taken off the hook earlier to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

“Don’t panic, but I’m afraid he got into a bit of a scrap.” The expression on Wellesley’s face said much more than his words - it was clearly more serious than he was letting on.

Grant felt his knees buckle and clutched at the doorframe to steady himself.

“Oh God. What happened? Is he OK?”

“He’s in the hospital, he..”

“Take me to him,” Grant interrupted. He stepped forward and started to pull the door closed behind him but Wellesley tightened the grip on his elbow, preventing him from going any further. 

“I will,” he said, looking Grant up and down, “but you might want to get changed first.”

Grant pulled the kimono closed, suddenly aware of what he must look like but much too preoccupied with thoughts of De Lancey to feel any sense of embarrassment. 

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

He stumbled into the bedroom, trying not to look at the bottle of champagne he’d put in a bucket of ice by the bed, and grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help thinking the worst as they made their way to the car. What if they were too late?

“All I know is he was quite insistent that I talk to you as soon as possible. He wanted to make sure you knew he hadn’t let you down.” Wellesley shook his head with a wry smile. “What on earth have you done to him? The De Lancey I remember never cared about anyone but himself.”

“So he was still conscious?” That, at least, was something.

“He was when they put him in the ambulance. He’d lost a lot of blood though, so I don’t know…”

“Lost a lot of blood? Jesus, Arthur! What the fuck happened?”

“I wasn’t close enough to hear what was going on but it looked like he was trying to stop a group of lads tormenting a puppy and when they wouldn’t leave it alone he just started throwing punches. Of course he was totally outnumbered. They beat him up pretty bad and one of them had a knife and ...”

Grant felt the blood drain from his face. “Who?” he gasped, “Who would do that?”

Wellesley grimaced as he got into the driver’s seat and leant over to open the door for Grant. 

“You remember Napoleon? Little guy? Went to the Comp? Developed a complex to match the name his mum lumbered him with after watching too much _Man from U.N.C.L.E._ in the 60s?” He shuddered. “Nasty piece of work if ever there was one.”

“Oh God,” Grant whispered, “what were you thinking, William?” 

“I don’t suppose he was thinking at all. You know what he’s like, always rushing headlong into things without considering the consequences.”

Grant had a feeling this was as much a comment on their relationship as it was on De Lancey’s current predicament but he ignored the tacit disapproval in Wellesley’s tone and just attempted to make sense of what he was being told. 

“I don’t understand. Weren’t any of his friends there?”

“That was the strange thing. Ashton and Spencer just stood and watched. Didn’t lift a finger to help. I could have sworn they were laughing.”

“Fuck.” Grant couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “This is all my fault. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have been abandoned by his mates. He would’ve had backup. Shit, he probably wouldn’t have even cared about the damn puppy in the first place. Oh God, what have I done?”

He lapsed into a miserable silence, punctuated by the occasional muffled sob as he prayed to a God he didn't believe in and swore that he would do anything just to see his love alive.

  
When they arrived at the hospital, Wellesley went to park the car while Grant tried to find out what was going on. He knew the woman at the reception desk was just doing her job, but it felt like she was deliberately obstructing his attempts to see De Lancey.

Each time she refused to answer his questions because he wasn’t family or just shrugged and told him he’d have to wait for a doctor to come out, he got more and more frustrated and desperate until he ended up shouting, “Just fucking tell me!” and the only thing that stopped her from calling security was Wellesley arriving and leading him away to calm down.

“This isn’t doing any good, Grant,” he said gently, “let me have a go.”

Turning on his legendary charm, he smiled at the woman. “Now then, let’s see if we can’t sort this out. De Lancey’s a good mate of ours so anything you can tell us would be helpful.”

“I already told your friend. I can only disclose information to his next of kin.”

Grant snorted with derision. 

“Ha. His family don’t give a shit. They’ve practically disowned him for fuck’s sake. They’re hardly going to come down here even if they do find out what happened.”

“Well,” she said, looking at the paperwork in front of her, “those are the rules and I can’t tell you anything without their permission.”

Wellesley was leaning on the desk, trying to get a look at the forms while she was focused on Grant, and something he saw caused him to raise an eyebrow in surprise. 

“In that case,” he said, feigning innocent curiosity, “can you at least tell us who he gave as next of kin? Perhaps we can help you contact them.”

“Good luck with that,” she sighed, “I’ve been trying to call for the last half hour but the line is engaged. Actually, maybe you can help. Do you know where he lives, this Colc...Colqui...this Mr Grant?”

Grant, who had been edging closer to a promising looking door with the intention of making a dash for it the next time it opened, spun around at the sound of his name.

“But I’m Grant!” he cried in astonishment. He hadn’t even considered that De Lancey would think of him that way. Surely they would let him in now.

The receptionist looked understandably sceptical. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to see some proof of that, sir.”

“Shit!” Grant’s shoulders slumped as his hope turned to despair. He patted the pockets of his shorts even though he knew he wouldn’t find anything. “I didn’t bring...”

The sound of Wellesley clearing his throat made him look up – the older man was holding something out to him with a smile.

“I thought you might need this so I grabbed it on the way out,” he said as he handed over the wallet.

  
The doctor who came to take Grant to the private ward explained that they’d had to operate to stop the bleeding from the stab wound and De Lancey had a couple of broken ribs and a punctured lung but insisted there was no reason to think he wouldn’t make a full recovery. Nonetheless, Grant hesitated when they actually got to the door, unsure if he could deal with the reality of the sight that awaited him.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the doctor and pushed the door open.

De Lancey was lying on his back, his head propped up on a couple of pillows. His eyes were closed and the deathly pallor of his face accentuated the bruising around a gash on his left cheekbone.

There was a nurse standing over him, a puzzled expression on her face as she watched the lines on the monitor next to the bed. 

“He should have come round by now, doctor, I don’t know...” Her voice trailed off as she looked up and realised the medical man wasn’t alone.

“Oh. Sorry. I ...”

Grant felt like he was about to throw up. “What is it? What’s wrong? Why isn’t he waking up? Please, doctor…”

“It’s all right,” the doctor reassured him. “We’ll do some tests and figure it out. Would you mind waiting outside.”

Grant spent the next ten minutes pacing anxiously up and down the hall, berating himself for unplugging the phone and promising himself that he'd never complain about anything again if only he could see that beautiful smile one more time. In all the years he’d spent on his own, he'd never felt so alone and so utterly helpless.

The look on the doctor’s face when he emerged didn’t do anything to ease his fears.

“I can’t explain it,” the man said with a furrowed brow. “There’s no physical reason why he hasn’t regained consciousness. It’s as if he just doesn’t want to wake up.”

“So give him something to wake him up then.”

“It’s not that simple. If we don’t know the cause, giving him something – as you put it – could do more harm than good. I really don’t think there’s anything we can do other than wait. You can sit with him if you want – just press that button if anything changes.”

But nothing did. 

Grant sat by the bed for the next three days, offering to help whenever the nurse came in to change the dressing on De Lancey's wound and refusing to leave the room except for unavoidable bathroom breaks. Wellesley tried to get him to go to the cafeteria and, when that failed, he managed to persuade the receptionist to let him bring in a sandwich and wouldn't leave until Grant had eaten the whole thing.

McGrigor came to visit too, but his attempts to get Grant to go home for a couple of hours met with a stubborn and heartfelt protest. 

“What if he wakes up when I’m not here? What if he...” but he couldn’t even finish that thought.

On the third night, a different nurse appeared. A tall, slender man with unruly hair whose name badge identified him as Jon. He took one look at Grant’s expression and the way he was holding onto De Lancey’s hand as though the world would end if he let go and gave him a friendly smile.

“You look exhausted, pet,” he said in a broad Geordie accent. “You need to get some rest.”

Grant shook his head. “I can’t leave him.” He had a feeling this man understood. “Please don’t make me leave him.”

Jon patted the sheets next to De Lancey with a conspiratorial wink. “You know these things are stronger than they look. Why don’t you hop up there and get some sleep.”

Grant looked longingly at the bed.

“I can’t. What if someone comes in?”

“They won’t. It’s just me on duty tonight and I’ll wake you before I go off shift.” He lowered the rail at the side of the bed. “Go on. You won’t hurt him.”

Grant climbed up slowly without letting go of De Lancey’s hand and lay down beside him, taking care not to put any weight on the injured ribs. He kissed him gently on the cheek and fell into a deep - and thankfully dreamless - sleep.

  


The next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake.

“Hey,” Jon was smiling down at him and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. “Time to get up. I brought you some breakfast.”

Grant reluctantly started to sit up but froze when he felt a squeeze on his hand. He held his breath as he looked down at the figure beside him and let it out with a gasp when those blue eyes fluttered open and the voice he’d feared he would never hear again whispered, 

“Don’t go.” 

“William?” He had to resist the urge to throw his arms around De Lancey and hold him as tight as he could. Instead, he leant over and kissed him gently on the lips, no longer caring what anyone thought. “Oh God. Oh love. I thought I’d lost you.”

Jon was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll go and get the doctor,” he said, breaking into a tuneless rendition of Frankie’s _The Power of Love_ as he left the room.

Grant was banished from the ward while they ran more tests and when he was let back in De Lancey was sitting up in the bed sipping a glass of water, a welcome flush of colour in his cheeks as he watched the rain falling outside the window. 

“Heatwave’s over then?” he asked, as if he had nothing more important on his mind.

“Yes.” Grant couldn’t believe he was actually talking about the weather. “It broke the night you were brought in. There was a big storm. Don’t you remember?”

De Lancey shrugged. “Well I guess nothing lasts forever. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be packing for uni?”

Oh. So that was it.

“What? No! I can’t go back now and leave you like this.” He reached for De Lancey’s hand and flinched when it was abruptly pulled out of his grasp.

“You have to. After the crap I’ve put you through in the past, I can’t be responsible for fucking up your education as well.”

“But it’s not safe. What if those thugs decide to have another go? You need someone on your side.”

“Maybe I’ll just get the hell out of this place as soon as I’m well enough. Start again somewhere nobody knows me. Somewhere I can be the better man you’ve helped me become.”

Grant let out a shuddering sigh. The thought of being alone again when he came back in the holidays was almost too much to bear but he had to let De Lancey find his own way. 

His voice broke as he asked, “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know...” De Lancey paused and suddenly his face lit up as if the most obvious thing in the world had just occurred to him. “Although I’ve heard Sheffield is quite nice at this time of year.”

Grant stared at him in disbelief.

“You want to come with me? Are you sure? You’ll be giving up everything you know.”

“That’s kind of the point. I was planning to sell the apartment anyway and I can leave Fitz in charge of the business – he knows what he’s doing. Besides, I won’t be giving up the only thing that really matters.”

Grant shook his head. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

De Lancey took his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, his eyes full of adoration and hope. “Absolutely. I love you. I need to be with you...if you still want me.”

“Idiot! Of course I want you.” Grant leant in close and put his lips to De Lancey’s ear. “And I fully intend to have you - once your injuries have healed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [onstraysod](http://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/) for the idea and several of the scenarios that may crop up during the course of the story.


End file.
